Learning to Run
by kastr
Summary: Emily didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about the raw thing where Freddie’s face had been. Not when we’re happy. I don’t care if it’s selfish. Katie/Emily/Naomi/Effy/Freddie
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1.**

It took him a minute to realise the man was trying to speak. It took him longer to realise he should stop hitting and listen.

- He's alive. I'll tell you where.

That's what the cock was trying to say. Through the blood and spit. _Stop it Cook. Stop and listen. It's about Freddie. You'll be fucked if he dies on you._

Cook stopped. He leaned over, his face close to the man on the floor, putting his weight on the bat in his hand.

- What the fuck are you saying mate? Because if this is you trying to save your life, and you're lying, I'll kill you harder.

- I'm not. I didn't kill him.

John Foster closed his eyes. His eye. The one that wasn't closed already.

- I'm a healer, not a killer.

Cook kicked him in the kidneys.

- I thought you were a psycho, but you're just a deluded lying bastard.

John Foster didn't say anything. Then, without opening his eyes,

- he's in the loft. There's a ramsay ladder.

- You smashed his head in with a baseball bat and put his bloody clothes in plastic bags like some kind of second rate Ted Bundy. You expect me to believe he's still alive?

John Foster looked at him then.

I'm a doctor. I kept him alive.

He made a sound that could have been a laugh.

- You don't understand power, do you?

Cook straightened, and raised his right arm.

- I do now mate.

***

He was pretty sure he wasn't dead. _Don't fuck this up. _He left John Foster on his side and tied his hands and ankles together with electrical cords. In the plastic box with Freddie's clothes he also found his phone, turned off or out of battery. Cook put it in his pocket. Then he shut the windows and pulled the shades, leaving the lamp on. If the fucker managed a resurrection and untied himself, no surprises. _Check his pockets._ Keys. No phone. No wallet.

The house was big, but there were lights on. Cook climbed three flights of stairs. He was limping but he felt weightless. The top landing was dark. When he found the switch he could see a hatch in the ceiling that had a lock on it; the paint around the lock was scuffed. He needed one of those pole things. But how the fuck did he get up there to open the lock? A pole thing and a step ladder.

There were four doors opening off the landing, all closed. One had a small photograph stuck to the door. He hadn't noticed. Cook stepped closer. _What the fu…_ It was Effy. A blurry picture, taken from a distance, probably with a phone. She was standing at a window, the sun on her, looking out and away from the camera. Into an invisible distance. Her bare arms shone white.

Cook covered his face with both hands, pressing his palms into his eye sockets until he saw sparks. He was crying. _Pull yourself together man. _He pulled up his shirt and wiped his face, then opened the door. In the rectangle of light from the hall he could see it was a girl's room, but not a girl like Effy: a single bed lined with teddies, bookshelves, a desk with no computer, posters of paintings of ballet dancers. He slammed the door, the sound so loud he jumped. _Focus_. Another door led into a toilet, but the third was a linen closet with shelves, and everything he needed.

The small key on John Foster's bunch opened the padlock.

The loft was big like the house. Standing on the ladder, his head and shoulders above the level of the floor, Cook could see something at its far edge where a small orange nightlight was plugged in. Something like a mattress. Cook hauled himself up. He didn't think to stand up; he crawled to it. A mattress with a body laid out on it, a sheet pulled up to it's chin, head completely wrapped in bandages. John Foster had sent him up here to show off the body_._

Everything was black. The colour of rage; not red, black.

Then Cook realised that the ragged sound wasn't his own breathing, because he wasn't. Every bit of him was still. The sound was Freddie dragging air into his lungs through cracked lips. Little sips of air.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. _Cook leaned over him. Freddie's chest was moving slightly. Even a psycho wouldn't bandage the head of a dead man.

- What a fucking numpty, eh Freds. We're going to get you out of here mate. Then it'll be payback time for Doctor Foster. Did you see the room downstairs? What the hell was he playing at? Going to brainwash Effy and keep you up here like some kind of _Misery_ remake? Only this is Bristol right, not fucking Wisconsin or wherever.

He was babbling. _Don't look at the face_. Or where the face should have been; instead, a pulpy bruise.

Freddy moved. Very slightly. And out of him came a groan that escaped as barely a whisper but hit Cook like a wall of moving water. Drenching him, opening his eyes wide. _Do something_. He pulled out his phone and called Freddie's house, the landline. It rang for a long time before Freddie's dad picked up. Then it got simple. Cook told him everything that had happened, in the fewest words he could find. Leo said three things. Stay where you are. Text me from Freddie's phone. I'm coming over now. Then he hung up.

Cook picked up Freddie's phone and turned it on. He almost opened the full inbox, messages from him and Karen and Freddie's dad and Effy and JJ and everyone. The most from Effy. But instead he texted _help me bn attkd at john fosters ridge ave pls come dad he will kill me._

It took them 20 minutes. Freddie's dad wouldn't let Karen in to the loft. When Cook climbed down the ladder she was sitting on the landing with her back against to the door to the girl's room, tears and snot running down her face onto her pink pyjamas. When he knelt down and hugged her she put her arms around him and whispered – thank you for finding him Cook.

He sat next to her.

- You were right Karen. You know him better than all of us.

She leaned her head on him.

- The police are going to be here. You better go.

- The fugitive, duh duhn.

- You're going to tell her next, aren't you.

- Freds would want me to.

- This is her fault. Fucking nutjob. It's all her fault.

***

Nobody knew where Cook was, but by then no one cared. Karen had gone to bed, JJ was asleep, so Thomas and Panda took her home. No one said much but when they left Effy at her door and walked away, it was together. Effy stood watching them. Before they got to the corner Thomas reached for Panda's hand and she didn't push it away.

The lights were on. She took a deep breath and opened the front door. It was quiet; when she looked in the lounge her mother was asleep on the couch with an empty bottle of wine next to her and the TV on.

- I'm back Mum. You can go to bed.

Anthea started up.

- Oh, I must have fallen asleep. How was your night darling? You okay?

- Yeah fine. Tired. I'm going to bed.

She was already halfway to her room when her mum called – Night night, darling, I love you.

She'd been waiting all night to open the red notebook again, but when she did she didn't get past the second page. She didn't realise, at first, but then her mother was on her bed, holding her, stroking her hair, and she understood. The terrible broken sound was coming from her. She couldn't cry, there were no tears, but she couldn't stop either. Eventually they fell asleep like that, Effy curled up like a child, the red book clutched to her chest.

The doorbell woke them up.

- Stay here darling. I'll tell whoever to fuck off. Jesus, it's 4:30 in the morning, said her mother, catching sight of the clock. She slid off the bed carefully, as if Effy might break.

Effy lay with her eyes closed. The voices were whispering quietly, as if plotting. They'd been silent most of the night and now they'd want revenge. One of the voices was familiar, out-there familiar. Effy sat up. It was Cook. Anthea had left the bedroom door open and she could hear them in the hall.

They didn't notice her coming down the stairs. Cook was covered in blood, his own or someone else's. Her mother was saying – Oh god, oh god – and pulled him against her, hugging him. That's when he looked up and saw her. Standing on the stairs, amazed that it was hope she felt, when she knew it should have been fear.

He pulled away.

- Effy…

- Cook..

They spoke at the same time. Her mother's voice a warning. Cook ignored her.

- We found him.

Effy stared. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

- He's in a bad way Eff. He's been done proper. But he's alive. He's…

- What happened Cook? The words sounded like they'd been scraped out of her throat with a knife.

- Cook..her mother said again, stepping forward as if to stand between them. To shield Effy with her body. But he spoke around her.

- It was John Foster. He got Freddie to his house and went at him with a baseball bat. He's been keeping him there. But he's alive. He's alive Eff.

Effy was frowning, as if he'd been speaking in a language she didn't understand. She looked at her mother and back at Cook. They both stepped forward, because it seemed like she was falling, but it was running: past them, through the house to the kitchen where she vomited into the sink. She was sick for a long time, spasms shaking her shoulders as Anthea mother rubbed her back and tried to pull her hair away from her face. Cook watched, not knowing where to stand or what to do with his hands. Finally Effy stood up and turned around, wiping her mouth with her forearm. The lines on her inner wrists were shiny white.

- Take me to the hospital.

***

It was getting light, a dawn the colour of an oyster shell. There were already patients outside the hospital with their IVs and oxygen tanks, having a fag. Nobody even looked at the three of them, invisible in place full of blood and hurt.

The morning routine was starting, orderlies wheeling trays of food through the halls, but Freddie's wing was quiet. No one ate in this part of the hospital. Karen was sitting on a plastic chair outside his room, an oversized parka zipped over her pyjamas, starting at the wall in front of her. The door to the room was closed.

She didn't look up, despite the loud squeaky sound of their shoes on the floor. Cook stopped them with a hand, _wait_, then knelt down and put his face in front of hers.

- Karen?

She had to work to focus her eyes on him.

- Is he in there Karen?

She nodded, her eyes following him as he stood up. She registered Effy and Anthea, standing like actors waiting to join a scene.

- You've got some fucking nerve.

Effy said nothing. Standing now, Karen bunched her fists, looking like a furious, hurt child.

- This is all your fault you crazy bitch. This never would have happened if you hadn't decided you would stop fucking Cook and take an interest.

- I know. I'm sorry.

- He'd have been better off if you'd just stayed gone.

- I know. But I love him.

Karen laughed. There were tears running down her cheeks and dripping off her chin onto her father's coat.

- _I _love him. My dad loves him. Even Cook loves him.

Effy was crying. Her mother tried to put an arm around her; Effy shrugged her off and took a step towards Karen.

- He loves me.

- He _loves _you? He loves us too but it didn't nearly get him killed.

- That's enough Karen.

Leo was standing in the open door to Freddie's room. He stepped out and closed it behind him. No one moved.

- He's stable. Karen, come with me now. We're going to see him, and then you're going to let Anthea take you and Cook home. You're both going to get some sleep. Cook, you can stay in Freddie's room. I don't think the cops will come looking today. Anthea, would you mind?

She looked at him startled, like an animal in a beam of light.

- Of course Leo.

- Effy, would you like to see him?

Effy didn't say anything, but Leo nodded once, and reached out an arm for Karen. She went to him. It looked, as they went back in through the door to the room, as if she was the one supporting his weight. They came out again 10 minutes later the same way. Anthea hugged Effy – I'll be back for you soon yeah, as soon as I drop these two off and get them settled – and Cook and Karen went quietly with her.

Leo put his hand on Effy's shoulder, briefly. It was heavy.

– Go on. He wants you there. I'm going to get a coffee. The nurse's station is just around the corner.

He started walking off down the hall, then stopped. Effy had her hand on the door.

- No one can help who they love. It's what they do about it.

He couldn't have heard her say _thank you_. She pushed open the door.

She stood just inside the doorway looked at him lying in the dim room, only a raw swollen cheek and hand pierced by tubes visible. He'd stood like this and looked down on her, bandaged in different places, and felt what she felt. _My fault_. He'd sat beside her, in a hospital chair just like that one, and when she'd opened her eyes and told him to go, he'd gone. How many times can you push someone away before they stop coming back?

The real scars love makes are the ones you can't see.

She sat in the chair next to his bed and, leaning carefully over, kissed each of the fingers that rested on the sheet.

They came and went the rest of the day. Leo came back and sat with her awhile, then Anthea, then later JJ and Emily and Katie. None of them could look at his face after seeing it for the first time. His eyes moved under his swollen lids as if he was dreaming. The nurses scolded if more than two people were in the room. Karen and Cook came back. Karen took the chair, with Cook sitting on the arm, and talked to Freddie while Effy sat on the floor on the other side of the bed. Leo brought a chair for her, then she sat in the corner. She wouldn't leave. They all went to get dinner in the canteen. She wouldn't leave. Anthea gave up trying and brought her pills. Nurses came and went. Effy got her chair back, and laid her head on the bed next to Freddy's hand.

_I love you I love you I love you._ All she could say out loud was – please be okay.

She'd didn't know she'd fallen asleep until she woke up. It was getting late; there was no edge of light around the blind on the window. All she could see was the white sheet. Something was moving against her forehead.

His fingers.

She sat up. Under the rim of white bandage, out of the bruise, two eyes watching her.

- Freddie?

It came out a whisper, the barest hope.

- Eff.

The rawest sound that could still be a human voice.

- I'm here. I'm here.

She stroked his hand with her fingertips. He closed his eyes.

- How did I get here?

- Cook found you. At his house. He was keeping you in the loft.

She couldn't say his name. John Foster.

- It's not your fault.

She didn't know she had any tears left, but when she leaned over him they fell onto the front of his hospital gown. Careful not to touch any other part of him, she kissed his cracked lips.

- You deserve better.

She'd said it before, but when she looked at him she knew it was true. She sat back in the chair and wiped her face with the heel of her hand.

- I don't want better.

He was breathing hoarsely.

- I want you. I always have.

He closed his eyes again, and didn't open them. She thought he'd fallen asleep.

- Eff?

He didn't open his eyes. The words came out slowly.

- My legs don't hurt. I can't feel my legs.

- It's going to be okay now. You're going to be okay.

She lay her head down on the bed again so that he couldn't, if he opened his eyes, see what she was thinking. _Liar._

She heard the door open, she wasn't sure how much later. Leo came in with her mother, the two of them talking in whispers. Anthea was settling comfortably into the role of stalwart, like slipping on a practical cardigan: it was a version of persona one she'd taken on in Italy with Flo, and then adjusted for her mental daughter. _Nice of her to decide to take some fucking notice_. _All it took was a suicide attempt._

Effy sighed. And sat up. It was pointless, the anger. It had started creeping back, with the voices, but mostly she just felt tired. So tired.

- He woke up. For a bit.

Her mother came up behind her and started stroking her hair. She resisted pulling away.

Leo stood and the end of the bed, looking down,

- He opened his eyes for a few minutes earlier on.

- You didn't tell me. She was angry again, although she knew she had no right to be.

- You'd gone out. His voice was hard too, then softened.

- He didn't say anything. Did he talk to you?

- He said he can't feel his legs. What's wrong with his legs?

Leo and Anthea passed a look between them. Leo rubbed his face with both hands.

- What's wrong with his legs? Louder.

- They don't know. They're not sure. Her mother spoke in the voice she used for toddlers. And pets.

- Don't fucking patronise me.

She jerked her head back, away from Anthea's hands.

- That's enough of that.

Leo's didn't sound mad. Just tired too.

Effy looked at him, and knew she deserved to be spoken to like a child.

- Please just tell, she said softly. Just talk to me. I can handle it.

- There's a lot of swelling. Maybe damage to his spinal cord. They'll know when the swelling goes down. But right now they don't think he has any sensation from the waist down.

The feeling was like she'd swallowed ice: the coldest cold radiating out from deep in her stomach, freezing her limbs, making her teeth chatter against each other when she said, through her thickened tongue,

- What?

It was her mother who spoke, from behind her.

- He's paralysed Effy.

***

- If you get ash in my bed I'll make you eat that spliff.

Cook smiled at her, put the spliff in his mouth, and stood up. He performed an exaggerated stretch, like a callisthenics instructor, and wandered over to the window. The sun felt good. A shower would feel even better.

- And put these on you bloody exhibitionist!

She tossed him his pants. Cook ignored them where they fell, turned around, and sat on the window ledge, looking at her. _This is fucking weird. But it feels okay like. Weird._

Karen was lying with her pink duvet pulled up to her chin, eyes shut against the morning light falling onto the bed. She looked okay, for the first time in two days. Peaceful.

She opened her eyes, putting a hand up to shield them.

- I needed that.

- Know what you mean love.

She rolled her eyes.

- I mean, I needed to feel something. You know, something that wasn't sadness or worry or whatever. Something good.

- You came to the right place. Literally.

- You're such a fucking child. And don't flatter yourself, a dildo would have done as well, you were just handier.

Cook laughed. She folded her arms over her chest and squinted at him.

- Are you still in love with her too?

Cook made a show of roaching the spliff and putting it neatly away.

- Fine, you don't have to say it. It's obvious anyway. I don't get it. I mean, she's fit and all, but she's been a cow to both of you, and she's certifiable.

Cook pulled on his jeans.

- Jealous?

- Of course I'm fucking jealous! It's not easy, by the way, having a brother who's more beautiful than you are. Why do you think I dress up and shake my ass around? You get tired of being the cute one.

He looked down at her, frowning at him.

- You aren't just the cute one, kid, unless you choose to be.

He crawled onto the bed and kissed her nose, then pulled the duvet down.

- Definitely not just cute.

- Get off!

As he left her room for the shower, he heard her yell after him,

– that was instead of the blowjobs, by the way. We're even!

When Cook got downstairs Karen and her dad were sitting at the kitchen table drinking mugs of tea and eating toast. Leo gestured with his head to a place that had been set for Cook, cup still steaming. More than his mum had ever made him. He ducked his head – _thanks_ – and sat down.

- So we need to talk about your situation, don't we James.

It wasn't a question.

- Guess so.

- Do you know why I got you to send that text from Freddie's phone?

Cook chewed slowly and looked at him.

- Cause I was never there?

- Smart lad. You're a serial fuck up, but you've been a good friend to my son.

He looked at Karen. She was staring at her hands.

- So if it wasn't me, who did John Foster?

- We don't know, and we don't care. I'm sure we'll find out a lot more about that psychopath in due course. That young lady had a lucky escape, I think.

_But not Freddie._

- That said, you've got to do your time. Are you going to do your time James?

- Yeah.

- Good. We have an understanding. In the next few days I'll take you in, say I found you hiding in my son's shed. In a few days. In the meantime, you can stay here and give those bruises a chance to go yellow.

Leo stood up and started to clear the table.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

They made her go home.

Her mother and Leo were a united front, and the nurses were against her too. At first Effy tried to be friendly, moving out of their way, thanking them when they changed the water he couldn't drink. Smiling her best cornflower smile. Tony called it that, because it somehow made her eyes look bluer. But they ignored her, apart from telling her to leave when they had to do anything to him, and talking past her when anyone else was in the room. There was one, early that first morning, who called her 'dear' and patted her hand; she went off shift and she never came back. Instead a 'nursing assistant' called Kirsty with bleached blonde hair and a Glaswegian accent, whose polyester uniform did her ass no favours, took over: she talked to Freddy in a cooing voice, calling him a brave boy, and took obvious satisfaction in kicking Effy out when visiting hours were over.

When she was in the room Effy sat in her chair with her arms wrapped around her knees and stared. _You aren't even a real fucking nurse. _Kirsty didn't seem to notice. Her thighs made a noise when she walked, a rasping sound. It made Effy want to retch.

Her mother got sushi from M&S. They sat at the table and twiddled their chopsticks while Anthea drank a fishbowl-sized glass of white wine. Effy was back on her pills, the ones supposed to wrap the inside of her head in cotton wool to drown out the voices. Sticking to her chart.

- I'm going to bed.

- You haven't eaten anything darling. Your supposed to eat before you take your bedtime meds.

Anthea had adopted the hospital lingo. Effy put a California roll in her mouth, raised her eyebrows, and turned her back.

- Effy. We should talk about what's happened.

- What should we talk about Mum? Effy spoke to the wall.

- Come on love. About Freddie.

- My boyfriend, who I treated like _shit_, was attacked by my _counsellor_ with a _baseball bat _and might be _paralysed_. Cook found him, because he _knew_ John Foster was a psycho, because Freddie knew it and was trying to protect me.

- Effy…

- Oh yeah, and I'm still a mental case. Is there anything else you'd like to add mother? Without looking back, Effy started up the stairs. – I didn't think so.

- It's good that you're angry. It's good you're feeling something. You were just…blank, for so long. He needs you.

The sound of her boots on the stairs downed out Anthea's voice.

She lay on her bed, Pato against her chest. The slightest sweetness clung to her tongue like a memory. Sugar coating from her pills.

The red notebook sat on top of the duvet. She opened it. She turned the page. She turned each page carefully. Looked at what Freddie had written in black pen. When? After she'd dumped him in the pub, in front of all their mates? _Or did John steal your soul as well as your past?_

No, he just tried put a lock on your heart that only he had the key to.

Eventually the pages became blank. There were no more words. No more words for any of it.

In the dark, she stared at the streetlights outside her window and thought, _how does anyone sleep in this world?_ And then she was dreaming, about a sun-filled forest with a pool of dark water at its heart. A black unblinking eye.

***

- It's worst in the mornings. Have you seen the fucking bathroom? And James is sleeping on, like, the bench that's the seats for the table. This morning we were all perched around the edges eating breakfast while he slumbered away. Mum trying to ignore his stiffy.

Emily spat a mouthful of hospital tea into her lap then tried, still laughing, to dry it with a handful of napkins from her muffin.

- Oh for fuck's sake Em. Katie grabbed the tea, set it on ground under the bus stop seat, and confiscated the napkins. – It'll dry. At least you didn't scald your muff.

- Or my muffin! Emily was semi-hysterical.

- So I'm guessing, from your mood, that you've definitely made up. Either that, or you've caught the mental bug that's going around.

Emily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

- And I take it you aren't going to join us on our family camping holiday.

- Are you fucking joking?

Katie smiled sideways at her.

- There's a kitchen shelf that doubles as a bed if you change your mind.

- Naoms is going to ask her mum if I can stay. She's trying to get the house sorted out before her and Kieran get home. The cops left it in a right state.

- Excited about Goa then?

Emily tipped her head back against the bus shelter.

- Yeah, but mostly it just feels good that my heart's stopped hurting.

_Nice for some_. Katie looked at her hands. Her nail varnish was chipped. Christ, she was going to look like Effy soon. _Try to be happy for her._

- I was getting tired of myself. Being so pathetic.

- Is Naomi definitely taking a year out then?

That was mean. Emily's face shut down.

- We haven't talked about it…she's not sure. But we might apply for work visas for Australia.

- Because a gap year in Australia isn't a fucking cliché.

- Why are you being such a bitch?

_Because you're going to fuck off and leave me here to pick up the pieces of everything. _

Katie sighed.

- I'm sorry Ems. I don't know. It was horrible seeing Freddie.

Emily looked at her then. And put her arm around Katie's shoulders. Katie let her head drop. She could smell Emily's shampoo: strawberry, from the BodyShop, the same one she'd been using since they were 12.

- Things just fall apart.

- Not all the time. Not everything.

They stayed like that for a long minute.

- Hey, don't you have your interview tomorrow?

Katie nodded. They stood up as their bus rounded the corner.

- Some advice? Don't wear anything leopard print, okay?

Katie kicked her so she stumbled up the steps.

Katie went to the library so she could print her CV. Emily got off at the Green and walked home, stopping at Waterstones to buy a Rough Guide to Goa. _Thirteen bloody quid. _She opened the front door to the mingled smells of coffee and bleach. It was a surprisingly comforting combination.

The hall was bare and hoovered. In the kitchen everything was neatly put away, the fruit bowl stocked, the counters scrubbed. In wasn't a house in which much could gleam, but if it had been the surfaces would have shone. She found Naomi flat out on the sofa in the front room in cut-offs and a stretched out vest, her hair stuck to her face, forearm shielding her eyes.

- Don't look at me. I'm a disgusting sweaty hag.

She didn't move her arm.

- Remind me never to harbour a fugitive again. It's too much bloody work.

Emily picked up Naomi's legs, slid onto the couch, and let them drop onto her lap. She circled Naomi's kneecap with her thumb.

- Your knees are red.

- I was actually down on all fours at one point, scrubbing fucking great boot prints off the floor.

- I'd have liked to have seen that.

- I wasn't wearing a French maid outfit Emily. It wasn't sexy.

- Okay Cinder-grumperella. Don't worry, your fairy godmother will be here soon to get you ready for the ball.

Naomi moved her arm down to her nose and peered at Emily.

- Actually, I'm not that interested in princes.

She pulled her down. A minute later Emily laughed and licked her lips, her head on Naomi's shoulder.

- Mmm, you are salty. The house looks great by the way.

- I talked to Mum. She said you can stay as long as you want. I think she likes you better than she likes me.

- What did you tell her?

- Just that your folks are having some money problems. Don't worry, I didn't go into details. She's not going to set up, like, a charitable foundation or anything.

Emily sat up.

- Actually I could use one. I checked my bank and I have about 50 quid to my name. Thirty-seven now that I bought this.

She slid the Goa guide out of her bag and dropped it on Naomi's stomach.

- There's no way I'm getting any money from the parentals now; I can't even pretend to go along with Mum bribing me to go hetero.

Naomi was looking at photos of white beaches.

– I can lend you some. Mum bought my ticket, because she thinks going to India is possibly the best 'life experience' ever. And my dad gave me guilt money when I turned 18. I used some of it for your ticket and I was saving the rest for London, but I can get loans and you can pay me back when you get a job.

- I don't think Starbucks wages go very far in London.

- Come on, it'll work out. Look! That'll be us in, like, less than two months. Except hopefully without the moustache.

Naomi pointed to a picture of an eighties looking couple lying in matching hammocks.

- What, no smile? Don't tell me I'm the one who's turned into the optimist?

Emily chewed her lip.

- I'll sell the scooter, but I'm going to need more than that for Goa. I'm going to have to find a fucking job.

- Just avoid domestic servitude. It's bad for one's personal hygiene.

- Need me to lick you clean then?

- Yes, please.

Later Emily lay on her side, tracing the curve of Naomi's spine with her thumb. It was like a riverbed, a channel made just for her to navigate.

Naomi said, her face in the pillow,

- How is he Ems?

Emily didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to think about the raw thing where Freddie's face had been. _Not when we're happy. I don't care if it's selfish. _She sighed.

- Bad. A total mess.

- How's Effy?

- The same. Not so many visible bruises but pretty much the same.

- Cook?

- I didn't see him. Still awol, but in one piece. Freddie's dad's putting him up.

- Are you okay?

- This is going to sound really horrible, but I don't want to think about them. Effy and Freddie and the fucking whole mess. It's like, we've just started to work things out. I feel good for the first time in I don't remember how long. And then I think about them and my heart just hurts. I don't want their misery to…you know, infect us. Am I horrible? I'm a horrible person.

- I don't think heartbreak is a communicable disease.

- Promise?

- I promise.

***

The moon was still out when Effy woke up. Her mother heard her just as she was leaving, and shouted from the landing about a lift as Effy shut the front door behind her. Walking was better: the cool air emptied out her head and washed her clean.

Freddie's dad was already at the hospital. She stood outside Freddie's room, her back to the wall, and watched him and the nurse talking. The nurse started fiddling with the IV. Leo rubbed his face hard, as if trying to wake himself up. When the nurse left Effy went in, but stopped just inside the door. Leo was sitting in the chair next to Freddie's bed, watching his son. The look on his face almost made her walk out again. That much pain should be private. He said, without looking up,

- I'm watching him breathe. That's what he needs to do, just keep breathing.

An infection, Leo said. Systemic. They'd given Freddie a massive dose of antibiotics, and diamorphine for the pain. He wasn't asleep. He was unconscious.

They stood like that for a while. Then Leo shook his head.

- Sorry Effy. Take the seat.

- It's okay. I'm fine.

- I have to go into work anyway. At least for a while, sort some things out. Karen will be in later.

Leo stood, then stopped. Remembering something.

- Effy, the police came here yesterday just after you and your mum left. Asking questions, wanting to talk to Freddie about what happened.

Leo almost smiled. The two coppers in suits, standing at the end of Freddie's bed, asking if he was able to talk to them. _Does it look like he can talk to you? Right Mr McClair, we understand that this is a difficult time, but he will need to answer some questions when he wakes up. _As if Freddie was a naughty child. At least they'd said 'when', not 'if'.

- They want to talk to you too. About John Foster.

Effy stared at him.

- It will be okay Effy. Your mum and I can fend them off for a bit. They'll have to be sensitive to your situation.

- That I went mad? That situation?

- Why don't you go home? He isn't going to wake up today. The nurses said as much.

Effy sat on her bed, her pills lined up neatly. She opened the red notebook again. On the first blank page she began to write.

_Dear Freddie,_

_Eurydice was a nymph, one of the most beautiful daughters of Apollo, the god of light. She married Orpheus, the most important poet and musician in Ancient Greece. He played her beautiful music, and they were married. But she was so beautiful that a satyr chased her and she stepped on a snake. She died from its venom. Orpheus loved her so much that he followed her to the Underworld where his music softened the hearts of Hades and Persephone. They granted his wish that she be returned to the land of the living, on one condition. He had to walk in front of her until they crossed the five rivers of the domain of Hades and returned to the earth, and not look back. Orpheus did as he was told, but just before he reached the portal, just as he reached the light, he turned. He wanted to see her face. _

_She was lost to him forever._

_You didn't wake up today. I don't know who I am, Orpheus or Eurydice._

She put her three pills on her tongue and swallowed.


End file.
